


Good Intentions

by rebecca_selene



Category: Dredd (2012), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Community: intoabar, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2666798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebecca_selene/pseuds/rebecca_selene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger goes into a bar and meets... Ma-Ma (Dredd)!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://intoabar.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**intoabar**](http://intoabar.dreamwidth.org/) Fall 2014 AND [](http://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**hc_bingo**](http://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) Round 5 prompt "hostile climate;" based on movie and [prologue comic](http://www.scribd.com/doc/104439907/DREDD-MA-MA) canon; takes place just after the events of the comic

Hermione sank onto the creaky bar stool and sighed, her aching joints temporarily relieved of their burden, and ordered as close to a Firewhisky as she could find. The top members of the Mega City One Hall of Justice might be aware of the wizarding world and be open to a working relationship with them, especially when there was potential for fusing magic with anti-radiation muggle technology, but that information hadn't been released to the public. The only things the muggles in this bar in the newly built Peach Trees block knew was that she had a thirst and money to spend.

Hermione looked around the bar while she waited for her drink, comforted by the feel of her wand easily accessible inside her sleeve. The clientele consisted of a mix of men and women bearing various stages of wear and tear on their bodies along with tattoos whose meaning Hermione couldn't begin to guess. The woman on the stool to Hermione’s right had rested her head and arms on the bar, facing away, a full shot glass close to her fingers. Hermione wondered if the woman had passed out.

The bartender clunked a glass in front of Hermione, and the woman next to her jolted. The woman lifted her head and fumbled for her shot glass, almost tipping it over.

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked.

“What do you care?” The woman drank her shot and signaled to the bartender for another. “Are you a goddamn Brit? What the fuck are you doing here in hell?” She looked at Hermione, who suppressed a gasp at the sight of the jagged scars on the right side of the woman's face.

“Research on the construction of the new features of the Peach Trees block,” Hermione replied, recovering. She had carefully practiced the muggle-fied explanation of her presence prior to her visit, although she doubted the woman would remember any of their conversation in the morning even if Hermione had mistakenly said something suspicious.

“You're a little old to be working on research.”

Hermione huffed. “Not that old.” At least, for a witch.

“And the fools who employee you?”

Hermione took a sip of her whiskey. “My government. Technically I retired years ago. I just couldn’t sit at home all day doing nothing. So I travel as liaison for my department every once in a while. Ron…my husband…couldn’t stand it. He always said I would wear myself out, that it was too dangerous, and so on, right up until he…” Her expression twisted.

The woman made a sound that might have been interpreted as sympathy. “Life’s a bitch, don’t you think?” The woman threw back her head to gulp down her shot.

“I think death is worse,” Hermione said, brows furrowed. “At least for the living. I suppose you could argue that the dead find some kind of peace.”

“I have no peace.” The woman stared into her empty shot glass and then ordered another. “There is no peace in this wasteland.”

“Is there nothing you want?” Hermione asked. Judging by what she had seen, she knew the woman was probably right, that there was little for her to hope for in the remnants of America, but Hermione had never backed down from trying to help someone before.

Instead of giving a negative answer as Hermione expected, the woman paused. She looked at Hermione again, expression blank. “There was, once. We...had a plan.”

“We?”

The woman responded by downing her shot. Hermione didn't press.

“If you can, why don't you follow through with the plan? If it would have made you happy...even if it's not exactly the same as it could have been...what's stopping you?”

The woman humphed. “What indeed.” She picked up the shot glass the bartender had automatically brought when she emptied the previous one.

Hermione placed a hand on the woman’s arm, stopping her from drinking. “You’re going to hurt yourself with that, you know,” she said gently.

The woman snorted. “You think I haven't been hurt before? At least this is my choice.” She disengaged her arm from Hermione’s weak grip and drank. She sighed heavily, clunked the shot glass onto the bar upside-down, looked around, and stumbled off the stool toward the table where the roughest-looking group of men in the bar sat.

“You, what's your name?” the woman asked one of the men as she sat down and rested her elbows on the table.

The man she had addressed raised his eyebrows. “Caleb, if you must know, sweetheart,” he replied.

“Well, Caleb, I have a proposition for you, and you should know that it's of the variety in which you will never call me 'sweetheart' again.”

Caleb smirked. “Fair enough. What should I call you, then?”

The woman smiled without humor. “Call me Ma-Ma.”

Ma-Ma, Caleb, and the rest of the men at the table lowered their voices, so Hermione heard nothing of Ma-Ma's proposition. The group left not long after their introductions, Ma-Ma in the lead.

Hermione finished her drink slowly, waiting for her Portkey's scheduled departure time. She idly observed the bar's patrons as she mentally started to write her report on the day's findings. She had misgivings about whatever the woman, Ma-Ma, had planned with those men, but she hoped for Ma-Ma's sake that she could find some peace.


End file.
